why so serious
by underlings
Summary: he's draco malfoy, and spending a year with eyes full of death is nothing compared to this. nonlinear


**disclaimer**: story image (c) _mary-dreams_  
**dedication**: to anita, my kickass, hp queen.  
**notes**: this is weird and sorta not-canon  
**notes2**: edit! special thanks to **dayflow** for suggesting a change in the order of numbers.

**title**: why so serious  
**summary**: he's draco malfoy, and spending a year with eyes full of death is nothing compared to this. nonlinear

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(84)

His father is dying. Draco's not even sure how he knows; Lucius is looking the same as always, acting the same.

Perhaps it's that look of death in his eyes, reflected.

/

(35)

The only sounds some days are the screams.

There is no Potter, no Granger, and no Weasley.

There is nothing righteous about Hogwarts. Not anymore. There is nothing _remedial _about Remedial Muggle Studies, and Defense Against the Dark Arts is something like a sick joke.

Yesterday, Brown got her hands nailed to her desk for speaking out of turn, Finnigan's mouth was magically sewn shut for defending her, and the Gryffindors had to be silenced for nearly causing a riot.

He could—_should_—say something. Anything. But Slytherins are already labeled as cowards, and the Gryffindors (surely) wouldn't do the same for him, so he keeps his silence, palms pressed flat against his desk, face closed up and drawn, taunt.

(On the inside, he is screaming just as loud as they are.)

/

(60)

His trial is an… interesting affair. Droves of people turn out, calling for blood. They want to see the little traitor (and would-be murderer) Malfoy sent to Azkaban. Shut away. Gone, gone, _gone_.

(_Draco Malfoy, you are charged with organising the raid on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the summer of 1996, the injuring of classmates Katherine Bell and Ronald Weasley, the attempted murder of Albus Dumbledore—now deceased—and a strenuous use of the Unforgivable Curses._

_You are charged with bearing the Dark Mark._

_How do you plead?_)

He is guilty as charged; and about to tell Shacklebolt so, when Potter and Granger abruptly rise to their feet to speak in his defense, much to the protest of their red-haired companion.

(And suddenly, he can't see anything but Potter's face, swollen and _strange_, but still recognisable, because _hello?_ with puffy cheeks and slits for eyes.

_"Well, Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"_

_"I can't— I can't be sure."_

And suddenly, he can't see anything but Granger, writhing on the floor, shrieking, screaming, cursing, pleading as she is crucioed, again and again.

_"I don't know; I _don't know_! Please—stop, please, please—"_

_"I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? _Where_?"_

_"We found it— we found it— PLEASE!")_

And then he is trying to protest, but the chains on this ridiculous chair are holding him down, and all he wants to be is _guilty_, because then maybe these thoughts will disappear along with his soul and he is too young for this, and—

"—innocent."

A shocked silence rings out.

There is something dripping down his cheeks and it takes him a while before he realises that he is crying.

/

(39)

He can't curse any of them. Their small faces; so innocent; naïve. Fear, fear is everywhere.

The screams cut at him, and his mark _burns_. When the Gryffindors glare_—_their teeth bared_—_faces beaten and bloody and bruised, he cringes.

The Slytherins are avoiding him; he hasn't spoken to Blaise or Pansy in weeks.

Longbottom is more observant than he thought. The boy corners up to him after the last class of the day, and actually _offers_ him a place (as if the idiot were actually qualified to do so) in "Dumbledore's Army", because—_we'll need someone like you, you know, on the inside_—but his ears stick out just as much as they did first year and this year and every year in between; so Draco sneers. (_Rot in hell, Longbottom._)

But the oddest thing is, when the boy walks away_—well, come to me if you have a change of heart, i guess—_he has half a mind to call him back.

So he skips dinner and spends the rest of the night at the Black Lake with his face in his hands, just thinking.

/

(53)

Traitor.

_Traitor_.

The whispers fall on his back, but he smiles, delirious. The Battle of Hogwarts is raging, Weasley's just punched him in the mouth and he supposes that he owes the Boy-Who-Never-Dies once again.

/

(100)

He's "friends" with Potter now, if that's what you call going out for a firewhiskey after work every second Friday of every other month. On Tuesdays, Granger (—soon-to-be-Weasley, probably. Maybe. Yeah.) takes him out for tea.

He really is a traitor: he'd told the Aurors all he knew about the location of other Death Eaters, still in hiding, and they'd spat at him when he appeared in court, ready to speak his testimony.

_Brat_.

_Blood traitor_.

_Turncoat_.

_How dare you_.

Weasley watches his every move, ready to lash out, and it's almost like they're in Hogwarts all over again.

(Sometimes, his mouth still stings.)

/

(78)

Astoria is like a shining light, pulling him—slowly, but certainly, out of the darkness. He supposes that she's nice enough; she makes him laugh, which is certainly something.

Still, they do not marry for love.

/

(27)

The Dark Mark speaks to him, sometimes. It calls to him, croons out tales of regalia and battle and _blood. _It reminds him of his task ("You should be honoured, Draco! The Dark Lord wouldn't have put it up to anyone else!" Aunt Bellatrix's cackle booms in his ear.)

But he is terrified.

Draco Malfoy at sixteen years old is weaving through people and loyalties and thoughts and, oh—

he is afraid.

—

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_fin_.  
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